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Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Oh Gypsy Moth

It was cool night and as most were poor with very little do, and talking of people of whom they new little about ; some had walked. It was a clear weekend day and the majestic clouds stood motionless above the landscape. Some old , satisfied there imaginations by walking , some young played in the warmth of the yards jumping and rolling about. In the recess of the porch's with out walls or windows a door was open to let the sunlight in. The hills were crawling with gypsy moth caterpillars and the tress were bare looking and weathered. 80 foot high stumps just seeking a strong wind- tear and if their roots or branches could have an expression; then by its vilest end would it be seen in a hearth of a fire place and its nature to lure the tired mind in dream.
The hills contained so many of these leafless branches , protruding like human veins of another world , that had risen once as the green cloth of forests in the wakening of summer , and with yet themselves no defense to the brown satin wings and {mandibles} often infinitely and serenely
sustained by themselves to cover the rotten skeleton of wood and branches; up and down its growth of sweet repast. To living trees no more.
In the sacrifice of his mind it was simpler to shut out the outside world, and never the less as each day pasted in the streams of his biological clock much like the flowers respectable power do draw the (yes in a persons smile) the officer of the state hesitated to discover or be the maker of the infected trees demise. To many it was no better to deliberately uproot them for lumber or fiberwood. And so with out ill- will they stood as far as the eye could see, altering the hills with a solemn greyness that retracted amongst the living wilderness of enchanted woods.

On the splinters wood or spite onto the hands,
before the climate change - the native earth availed in shire paths
a useless trail to ponds, me there had gone a clime by waste,
under heads of broken branches calling out its wings of burden -
the glimpse of its own caterpillars , an being so much a source of larvae,
limpid on the trees spread swamp unknown to human life - I lite a lamp
in dusky darkness conquer of armies under leaf - to cleave upon the slaughtered,
the slaughtered place of feet - 16 by train of feet.
At length I came upon the child birth enigma as it seemed to I.
An in a pause of pointed breath it stood their too, thus monstrous an odious,
with out a color blue nor amber, it glittered on a thread so fine the meaning of its birth loss.
And flickering to my lamp of light, it spoke of things to come , two things between my thumbs.
Still subtler to the pond of bugs as far as I could tell it spoke again "The well ".
The stony well s with streaks of light ; reflections of its hell.

Besides these analogies their were a similar likeness's, including a greenish-black-frog sitting upon a portion of upright rock between a road and a farm house. Both legs were crossed and thin arms with its hands folded seemed, like a fullness to life as never before, if one called to it - all did was sit , as it held the flag of democracy flowing pleasantly in the lite breeze. Beside it lay an assortment of some short flowers. The pond itself across from more woods was too, unflinching with its heavy dialect of forest sounds ; approximately 45 feet long an 30 feet wide it hungered for the immersion of life not only to itself , yet all so to natures traffic passing it. During the short visit into the woodlands the light in the lamp kept saying to I and he - Ah the summer - here to stay!, then at length traveling through this strange environment fixed with a sense of light believe in the mystical I encountered the eyes on a door of a gate . It might be said it played on my nerves to a fitness in any order to the spiritual or to the familiarly of my knowledge and besides this the odious caterpillar hanging about off a branch which tumbled in and out of visions delighting in it words had gave me a great feeling of self - deception to whence I recalled its words " Reflections of Hell " with streaks of light that time , "at the Stony Well." Concerning this I surmised to look deeper at the eyes on gate noticing a portrayal of carved butter fly's , snakes , toads and frogs and milieu of faces , their condition held both truth and beauty as if they had accepted what life had had- or offered them. On either side of the gate and I knew not why , their was a wall of stone the length and breath of some 30 feet x 3x 5, It had been constructed for war I thought no doubt and existed primary as the entrance into cemetery.
As it was to be I entered the gate under the edifice of iron scroll calmly with many of tall pines overlooking the crosses of thoughts departed and in soft repose cried out in the splendor of their peace - Old human stones that dare not shrill in times that we have lived.
Proud castles home of modern man electrified by science,
Swarming like the snakes- in muffled citys trails of drift ,
torn from sobbing touch of smiles an counter sighs to life
are all of last this streak of light - sweet life that swims above
The things between our hands delight, to us the best we have?
Or hasn't the news tonight bright office s above the clouds
sleepy to the beating gust the drums repast of now,
blind sense was matched in comforts spend where peace
exquisite peace endures , folded in thy stony well forever forming
arguments to warble all thy thoughts I came unto a simple forest
deep within the hills and listening to salutations call I magnified
its life by flowers trees and breeze to only contort my mind
as symbols to my lively years clustered on thy fringe for freedom
ever so little by this I heard the "creaky door of well" as here to
lead this laboring life swept up towards this tomb - by well an water deep with in the
hurried earth I heard immortal call - I looked on it as bugs and insects , frogs and snakes and
more, till then I wander far in land and found your ancient law.